Prove Me Wrong
by I am The Lev
Summary: After a fight with Robin, Much asks the gang to help him with a personal project. Some WillDjaq and AllanMorgan.
1. Quarreling

Hallo! There are spoilers if you haven't seen up to series two, episode nine. I always forget to post spoiler alerts. I also forget disclaimers, but I trust that you all know I don't own Robin Hood.

---

"Not that I'm complaining, or anything," he muttered sarcastically. He was complaining, but he knew that Robin wasn't listening. It was quite the problem with the young Earl of Huntington lately, especially since Marian had chosen to return to the castle. He heard the snap of a bowstring and instinctively ducked, feeling the breeze of an arrow flying over his head.

Much had told Robin that the break-in was a bad idea, but Robin had stubbornly insisted. Much wouldn't go so far as to say that Robin was hiding his real motive, which was to see Marian. Much would say that his master was barely obscuring his obvious pining for the Lady of Knighton. He nodded as he ran. Yes, barely obscuring was far more accurate.

The gang peeled into the forest, splintering off to evade the Sheriff's men. Guy of Gisborne rode up and down the path with his men, searching the trees for any sign of the outlaws.

"You're getting sloppy, Hood!" he barked into the forest. "We've come to expect better!" He hoped that the taunt would at least prompt Robin to shoot at him, but in the back of his head he knew that Hood was a soldier, and a soldier knew better than to give away his position. Gisborne glowered at the surrounding trees, as if they offended him with their presence.

"Not being funny, Giz, but he's obviously scarpered," Allan pointed out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He really had to work on his napping problem. Guy cringed at the sound of his nickname, though he wasn't quite sure when he'd told Allan that it was okay for him to call him "Giz." He was sure that he had never authorized such a thing, but the former outlaw didn't seem to care too much. Annoyingly enough, the Sheriff had also started calling him "Giz." Guy was sure that if he didn't half-way like Allan, he'd kill him.

"Obviously," he snarled under his breath. "Back to the castle, everyone!" The guards did as they were told. Gisborne was sure to be in a foul mood now. Allan stayed back as the guards filed out of the forest, taking it upon himself to hold up the rear. The move was strategic. The rear meant a greater distance between him and Guy, whose disposition was sure to be less than sunny at this point. The rear meant that he could have a slow, relaxed ride back to the castle.

He glanced up in a tree, squinting through the thick foliage. His reward came in the form of an apple, which he caught. There was a heart carved in its side, and Allan smiled up at the tree before clicking his tongue, urging his horse forward. As soon as he was out of sight, Much stepped out of his hiding spot in a nearby bush, signaling to the others that it was safe.

"Morgan, do I need to point out how risky that was?" Much asked, projecting his voice towards the overhanging tree branches where Morgan was skillfully climbing down. She jumped from the tree, landing next to Much, shaking her head.

"Gisborne was right, though," Djaq mentioned casually, burrowing out from under a pile of leaves. "That was a bit sloppy." Robin came from around a tree, not responding to the team's criticism of his plan. Instead, he glared after Gisborne and his men before storming back towards the camp, roughly pushing Will out of the way. He briefly considering doing the same to Little John, but, let's be honest, it was Little John. He stepped around Little John before resuming his brooding march back to the camp.

"Master, wait!" The whole group waited in the clearing as Much jogged after Robin, giving the friends much needed space. Much caught up to Robin, gently placing his hand on his shoulder. Robin turned around quickly, snapping at Much without saying anything, the angry glare on his face announcing his feelings for everyone to see.

"Master, I know you miss her" Robin's glare intensified, but Much put his hands on his hips, drawing himself up to his full height. He would not be intimidated.

"I know you miss her," he continued, stepping in front of Robin as he started to walk away, cutting him off in his tracks. He was going to listen, whether he wanted to or not. "But that is no reason to march on the castle with half of a plan, risk all of our lives, just so you can see her."

"That wasn't why!" Robin hissed back, though he knew Much knew better. In fact, the former manservant crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at him, daring him to say otherwise.

"You're just mad because…" Robin clamped his mouth shut, reverting to the angry glares. Much waited for the rest of the comment.

"Because what? Because one of the guards nearly cut my head off? Because we were being shot at? Because I told you that this was a bad idea and you failed to listen to me _again_?" Much supplied, trying to keep his voice low, but ultimately failing.

"I always listen, Much!" Robin said in his defense. It did nothing to help his mood when Much took a giant step backward. "What are you doing?"

"Backing up before the lightning strikes," Much replied, his expression deadpan. "You never listen to me! Every time… _every_ time that you do this, I try to talk you out of it! I point out the problems, the dangers, and you _never_ listen! Sometimes, you don't even acknowledge me!" Robin shook his head. He didn't need this. He needed Marian. He needed to hold her, or at least know that she was safe.

"I always listen, Much. And if you feel otherwise, then prove me wrong!" he barked angrily, shoving Much as he had shoved Will, heading in a straight line back to the camp. The fact that he missed Much's next sentence was proof enough, but Much had the idea in his head, and he was going to run with it.

"Right," he said defiantly, marching back to the group. "I'll show him who's wrong."

---

Will waited as Much walked back over to them. The way he carried himself told the rest of the gang that he and Robin had had one of their infamous fights, which wasn't a good sign. Robin and Much were like bacon and eggs. They hardly fought. Sure, sometimes they'd have a meaningless like quarrel, but this appeared to be one of the rare occasions when they had had a proper row. Which meant that Much had tried to point out to Robin why it was dangerous to try and see Marian, and Robin had quite clearly stated that he didn't want to hear it.

"Right," Much repeated, stopping in front of the group. "We're going back to Nottingham." For a minute, they all stared at him, trying to discern how serious he was. Finally, Djaq spoke.

"Much, something is wrong. What's going on?" As it tended to do when asked the right questions, Much's dam broke. He quickly pulled off his cap and threw it onto the ground, giving the forest floor a good kick before walking in a small circle, letting off steam before sternly pointing after Robin.

"He's so stubborn! He never listens!" he declared, clearly agitated. Morgan opened her mouth, and Little John could hear her comment before she said it: _Not being funny, Much, but that's a bit obvious._ Given Much's rare mood, Little John preemptively clamped a hand over the girl's mouth, ignoring her protests, allowing Much to continue.

"He says that he does, and he says that if I think he doesn't, then I should prove him wrong! So! We're proving him wrong!" Much explained quickly, ending on a note of such determination that they knew they wouldn't talk him out of it. Morgan started to point out that he was being just as stubborn as he had accused Robin of being, but Little John still had a hand over her mouth.

"Do you have a plan?" Will asked, leaning against a tree. His tone wasn't a discouraging one. He wasn't trying to poke holes in Much's statement; he was merely asking what Much wanted done. Much glanced at the others, noting that Djaq gave him an accommodating nod, Little John was waiting for him to speak, and Morgan looked interested, despite the fact that she was trying to pull Little John's hand from her mouth.

"Yes, I have a plan. We're going to get captured!" As he expected, the looks of support and encouragement wavered slightly, but given the seeming insanity of his statement, he didn't mind.

"I really hope that there's more to the plan," Morgan mumbled, though it was so muffled by Little John's hand that she was sure no one could understand her. Much seemed to get the gist of it though, because he launched into full detail of his plan.

---

Little John walked back into camp with only Morgan following after him. This alone was enough to catch Robin's interest, and he stood, peeking around the woodsman.

"Where is everyone else?" he asked. Little John looked to Morgan. There was really only one reason that she was there. Much's plan required a lie. A big one. The association was simple. When Much thought of lies, he thought of Allan. When he thought of Allan, he thought of Morgan. She'd spent her whole life with Allan. Logically, she had picked up how to tell a lie, even if she didn't do it that often. Of course, Morgan probably would've resented the implications of Much's logic, so he simply told her that he needed Will and Djaq with him for the first leg of his plan.

"Will and Djaq went hunting. Much is talking a walk. Not being funny, Robin, but he's a bit sore about the little row you two had back there," she muttered, almost scolding Robin for his rash actions. Little John reflected on that, finding it funny that Morgan, who was notoriously impulsive herself, would use such a tone. It was like the blind leading the visually impaired.

"Let him be sore," Robin grumbled, though Little John spotted the concern immediately. "He said that I don't listen!" He gave the two members of his gang a "can you believe it?" look, hoping that they would side with him. Little John merely shrugged, sitting by the fire. Morgan bit her tongue, resisting the urge to point out that if Robin _did_ listen, he would've already figured them out. She had said that Will and Djaq were hunting, but Much had announced that morning that the larder was full to the brim. Instead, she mirrored Little John's shrug, climbing into her loft and taking out a worn piece of parchment, pretending to read until it was time.

When Robin realized that they weren't going to take sides, he sighed, standing and grabbing his bow. He was about to step out when Morgan called from her loft.

"Fancy a game of cards?" she asked, pulling a deck of playing cards from under her pillow. Robin had planned on going hunting himself, though when he considered the mood he was in, he wasn't likely to catch anything. He nodded, sitting by the campfire as Morgan hopped down from her loft.

---

Djaq enjoyed the feel of Will's hand wrapping around hers. They were heavily calloused, but she didn't mind. His grip was strong and comforting, but gentle and soft at the same time, exemplified by how he lightly stroked her thumb with his own.

She thought about Much's plan, which was like a patchwork quilt of the adventures that they'd had in the past. It sounded simple enough, but like many of their plans, it depended on quite a few "what ifs." Perhaps that's why they were seeking _his _help. They waited for the guards to change, saw him saunter out, leaning lazily against a column.

"This would be a lot easier if we just sent Morgan," Will muttered. Much nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I suspect it would be, but she needs to be at the camp now," he whispered. "Who wants to go talk to him?" Will and Djaq exchanged glances. Neither one of them felt comfortable with the task. True, they both found that they couldn't hate him anymore. At the same time, he hadn't exactly redeemed himself. Much sensed their apprehension.

"Well, I could go," he shrugged," but he likes me the least." That was true. Even when he was in the gang, he and Much hadn't always seen eye to eye.

"I'll go," Will volunteered. He had some things that he needed to discuss with the former outlaw, anyway. Djaq gave his hand a light squeeze, and he felt more strongly about his decision as she smiled reassuringly at him. He waited until the man dozed off before he crept up to the post, clamping a hand over his mouth. There was an initial struggle, but the resistance died off as he recognized his attacker, prying Will's hand from his mouth.

"Will?" he asked uncertainly, looking around to make sure no one else was around. "What are you doing here?" He hadn't called out for help, and Will supposed that was a good thing. Still, he found a lump rising in his throat as he stared back, not responding right away. The man in front of him was… had been his best friend. He looked so different in the all-black uniform, but somehow the same.

"Allan," he finally mumbled as a greeting. "We need your help." Allan made another check around.

"What do you need?" he asked. Will wasn't sure if he was surprised by the ease of this encounter or not, but he didn't exactly have an abundance of time to figure things out.

"We need to get into the castle. We need to get captured. We need to get back out," he laid out the list of requests. Allan stared at him in the wide-eyed way that meant he was confused. It reminded Will of the old days, which nearly made him smile, but the fact that he had categorized those days as the "old days" stopped him.

"Not being funny, but isn't that what we— you usually try to avoid?" he asked. Will caught the correction, but ignored it for the moment. _Focus_, he reminded himself.

"Yes, but we have a plan. It's just me, Djaq, and Much. Can you help us or not?" he asked. Allan thought about it for a moment, nodding.

"Yeah, I can line that up. Just get caught," he instructed simply, glancing around nervously. "Now, get out of here before someone sees you."

"No," Allan gave him the same, surprised look. Will stared back, crossing his arms over his chest. He had to know for sure.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Allan asked, peeking around again. "If someone sees you…" He didn't feel that he needed to tell Will what would happen.

"No. I have something to ask you," Will said stubbornly.

"Well, hurry up and ask," Allan muttered.

"Did you see him?" Will asked, staring Allan in the eye. In the year that Allan had spent in the woods, he'd told more lies that Will had heard in his whole life. Eventually, the carpenter had figured out how to tell the difference between a lie and the truth. It was all in Allan's eyes. So, Will watched like a hawk, waiting for an answer.

"What are you talking about?" Allan asked.

"The Fool. When he took your key. Did you see him?" Will repeated the question.

"Yes," Allan answered, "though, to be fair, he was under duress. It's hard to pick pockets when you're scared for your life." Will nodded, and without another word he left. Allan watched until Will was clear of the castle before he yawned and went back to sleep.

---

"What did he say?" Much asked as Will returned. Will simply nodded.

"All we have to do it get caught," he muttered distractedly.

"That won't be too hard," Much answered, a smile tugging at his lips, despite the fact that they were about to launch themselves into the heart of Nottingham's dungeons.

"Can we trust him?" Djaq asked, glancing back at Allan, slightly worried. Will looked back at Allan, thinking of the man's eyes. When Allan lied, he never looked a person quite in the eye. His words floated through Will's head. _Yes, though, to be fair, he was under duress. It's hard to pick pockets when you're scared for your life_. Allan had held his gaze the entire time, a ghost of his cheeky smile tugging at his lips. Will nodded.

"Yeah, I think we can."

---

Don't pretend! We all know that Allan let the Fool take the key!

Anyway, this'll be the next main story. There'll be lies and intrigue and familiar faces all around, maybe even a marriage. Maybe. Don't hold me to that.

Hope you guys enjoy! Please review!


	2. Luck

"Is this your card?" Robin asked, holding up a faded ace of hearts. Morgan nodded excitedly, clapping.

"That's amazing! How did you do it?" she asked, grabbing Robin's arm and checking up his sleeves for cards. Robin laughed.

"I learned it in the Holy Land," he explained, though he didn't tell her how the trick was done. "From a Saracen man named Basim." Morgan seemed to think about his statement for a moment.

"Tall, laughed a lot, had a scar right here?" she asked, running a finger down the left side of her face.

"Yeah, you know him?" Robin asked, shuffling the deck of cards.

"Sort of. He was one of the converts. I guess he was friends with my teacher, because he'd stop by every now and then," she remembered. Little John perked with interest. Morgan was an open person, but she'd never talked about her time in the Holy Land before. Perhaps it was part of her plan. Much had given her one instruction: keep Robin in the camp until the afternoon. Little John may not have been as talkative as most, but he knew how to carry a conversation. Find common ground.

"He came to entertain us the first night that we arrived. I think he was primarily a story teller; he told a lot of stories," Robin recalled.

"Do you remember any of them?" Little John asked. He enjoyed a good story as much as the next person. Robin smiled sheepishly and shook his head.

"You'll have to ask Much. I wasn't really paying much attention," he confided. Morgan rolled her eyes.

"And you wonder why he thinks you don't listen," she commented dryly. "I remember a story that he told me on the one occasion in which we actually spoke." It was a surprisingly well-spoken set up, and Robin and Little John leaned back, awaiting Morgan's story.

"There once was a man from Baghdad. He was very wealthy and practically made of money, but he lost all of his fortune and became so destitute that he could earn his living only by hard labor," Morgan began, taking the knife from her belt and starting to sharpen it. "One night, he lay down to sleep, dejected and heavyhearted, and he saw in a dream a speaker who said to him, 'Verily thy fortune is in Cairo. Go thither and seek it.' So, he set out for Cairo."

"Isn't it foolish to…" Robin began to interrupt, but his protest faded as he took in the very scandalized look on Morgan's face. "Sorry, go ahead," he muttered, almost embarrassed.

"So, he set out for Cairo," Morgan repeated, slipping back into the story with a practiced ease. "When he arrived there, evening overtook him, and he lay down to sleep in a mosque. Presently, by the will of Allah, or God, whichever you prefer, a band of bandits entered the mosque and made their way into an adjoining house. The owners, who woke up when they heard the noise of the thieves, cried out for help. Whereupon, the Chief of Police came to their aid with his officers."

"So, they arrested the robbers?" Robin asked. Little John gave him a nudge, silently telling him that he was absolutely rotten at listening to stories.

"I'm getting to that," Morgan promised. "Not being funny, Robin, but you're just like a little kid."

"I am not," Robin argued, ignoring just how much he did sound like a little kid.

"_Anyway_," Morgan said pointedly. "The robbers made off." She shot Robin a warning look, daring him to interrupt again before she continued.

"But the Wali, he's like a man of the cloth, entered the mosque. He found the man from Baghdad asleep there, laid hold of him, and beat him with palm rods. He gave him such a beating that he was nearly dead. Then, they cast him into jail, where he stayed for three days," Morgan paused, holding her knife up and inspecting it before taking the whet stone to the blade once more.

"So, he is beaten and thrown in jail for three days? No evidence against him? No trial?" Little John asked. Morgan nodded.

"I know," she preemptively agreed, "it hardly seems fair. But think about it, it's not that different from what the Sheriff does."

"Wait, why is it ok for Little John to ask questions?" Robin asked, slightly frustrated, beginning to suspect that Little John and Morgan were messing with him.

"Because he waited for the dramatic pause," Morgan replied plainly. "At any rate, after three days, the Chief of Police, their very own Guy of Gisborne, if you will, sent for the man and asked him, 'Where are you from?' and he answered, 'From Baghdad.'

"The Wali, who I suppose was acting as a witness or something, says to the man, 'Why did you come all the way to Cairo?' The man replied, 'I saw in a dream One who told me that my fortune is in Cairo, and I am here to seek it.'

"Well, the Wali laughed until he was blue in the face and says to the man, 'Oh, man of little wit, thrice have I seen in a dream one who said to me that there was a house in Baghdad. It rests in such a district and of such a fashion and its courtyard is laid out gardenwise, at the lower end whereof is a jetting fountain and under the same a great sum of money lieth buried. The dream has thrice told me to go to Baghdad and take it, but I did not go. Now, you, in your briefness of wit, journeyed from place to place on faith of a dream, which has been but an idle figment of sleep.'

"The Wali gave the man money and told him to rabbit off and use the money to get back to Baghdad. So, the man took the money and gladly went home as quick as possible. You see, the house the Wali had described was the man's own house in Baghdad! So, when he returned home, he went straight to the fountain and dug underneath it. He discovered a great treasure and regained his abundant fortune. God be praised. The end," Morgan finished, sheathing her knife and looking expectantly to Robin and Little John.

"So, the message is that if you listen to your dreams, you'll be justly rewarded?" Robin asked. Morgan shrugged.

"Seems that way. I don't interpret the stories; I just tell them," she admitted with a grin. "Now, about that card trick?" Her gaze flickered to the deck of cards in Robin's hand. Robin smiled.

"Well, I suppose that I do owe you for that lovely story," he mused aloud.

"I suppose you do," she agreed.

"The secret is to watch my hands," Robin promptly said, fanning the cards out of front of her. "Pick a card, any card."

---

"Are you sure we need to do this?" Will asked, glaring at the cottage before them. Again, this particular task would've been a lot easier with Morgan, but she was occupied with other aspects of the plan. Much sighed, resigning himself with a nod.

"Trust me, Will. I'd rather not. This woman is revolting, and her house smells of cabbage," he commented. "But you've seen her work. It's the quickest way." Djaq smiled as Will heaved a sighed. Much rapped on the door with his knuckles, shaking his head.

"Well, well! If it isn't Robin's right hand!" The old woman crowed as the door swung open. Much winced. He could feel the headache already. "Come in, loves. Come in." The outlaws obliged. Djaq closed the door behind her as Poppy sat down in her chair, waiting eagerly for them to speak. As they had agreed before, Much did all the talking.

"Poppy, we need your help," he began, "We need you to tell people that you've discovered an outlaw plot to sneak into the castle. We're going to give you the details of the plan and everything."

"Why?" Poppy asked suspiciously. "Are you saying that you want people to know your plan to break in?" It didn't make any sense to her, but Much nodded.

"Call it character building," he muttered. "Are you going to help us?" Poppy sighed.

"I could do with some new blankets," she remarked, giving Much a sly look. He handed over a small purse, jingling with coins. Poppy weighed it in her hand. It was quite a lot, especially considering what they wanted done. As a woman of business, she thought it only fair.

"For this, I'll tell everyone about your plan, and you get to ask me one thing," she proposed. Much looked back and Will and Djaq, who both nodded in agreement. Much leaned in closer, keeping his voice at a whisper.

"Do either of you have a question for her?" Much certainly didn't, but he didn't want to offend her by turning down the offer, either. To his surprise, Will stepped forward.

"Alright, here's our question. Morgan said that she visited you for personal reasons. What are they?" he asked. The question had been in the back of his head ever since Morgan had first introduced the outlaws to the old gossip hound. Poppy smiled, showing her distinct lack of teeth.

"Darling Morgan visited me when she needed information concerning a very personal topic," she said with flourish, nodding knowingly as she rocked slightly in her chair. "But that is something that I cannot divulge. I can only say that on every occasion, your gang had just made a daring escape from the castle." It wasn't exactly an answer, but Will seemed satisfied. There was a pause in the conversation.

"Right," Much began, rubbing his hands together. "The plan."

---

Morgan was standing just outside of the camp, using her hands as a visor. Her tongue was sticking out, much like a child trying to figure out a problem. Robin stood beside her, glancing between her and the sky.

"Morgan, it's okay. I'll just tell you what time it is," he laughed. It was late in the afternoon, and though he had enjoyed the time they'd spent, swapping stories about the Holy Lands and laughing at the surprising volume of jokes that Little John knew, he couldn't help but think that something was amiss. Will and Djaq had yet to return from hunting, and Robin was seriously worried about Much.

"No, I've nearly got it," Morgan muttered, not at all concerned as she waved a hand dismissively before returning it to block the sun from her eyes. "Is it five o'clock, then?" She peeked over at Robin.

"More like three," he corrected gently, "Will and Djaq have been gone for a while." He stared at Morgan, watching for the slightest reaction, something that would tell him what was going on. Morgan wasn't one to disappoint, the way that she uncomfortably shifted her weight from one foot to the other giving her away.

"Morgan, what's going on?" Robin demanded sternly. Morgan bit her lower lip, as if battling with herself. He raised an eyebrow, prompting her to go ahead and get it over with.

"They went back to Nottingham. Much said something about making a proper plan and breaking into the castle," she confessed quickly, wincing as Robin's glare intensified. "Much told me to keep you here. Said that he wanted to do this without you."

"And you listened to him?" Robin asked, a mix of disbelief and anger in his voice. Morgan resented it, her hands flying to her hips.

"Well, I suppose one of us had to!" she snapped. Little John looked between Morgan and Robin. Robin assumed a similar position to Morgan's, stepping forward.

"You're saying that I don't listen?" he asked, using their clear difference in height to his advantage. Morgan, who had spent her whole life being short, was not impressed. She took a step closer, decreasing the space between her and her leader.

"Well, you've done a bang up job so far!" she remarked sarcastically. Little John took this as his cue to intervene. He pushed his way between the two, putting out an arm to signify that the argument was over.

"Stop. We should find out what they're planning," Little John suggested evenly.

"No, we need to go to Nottingham and make sure that they don't do anything stupid!" Robin disagreed, marching off, not caring whether or not they followed him. As soon as he was out of earshot, Little John grinned at Morgan, who returned the gesture.

"Much called that one," she noted, amused. Little John nodded.

"And you were really good, Little John," Morgan complimented. "Played it really close to the vest."

"Thank you," he chuckled gratefully. "Step two?"

"Step two," Morgan agreed.

---

The Sheriff tossed the plum between his hands, staring at the guard in front of him.

"So, how's the family?" he asked, though it was clear that he was only making small talk. Still, when the Sheriff of Nottingham asked a question, it was always the safest bet to answer him.

"Fine, my lord," the soldier muttered. He didn't feel that it would be in his best interest to mention that they were barely squeaking by, what with the exceedingly poor amount that he was paid.

"I assume that there's a reason that you are here instead of scurrying around like a good little guard," The Sheriff continued.

"Yes, my lord. We've received word that Robin Hood's men will try to break into the castle," the guard announced.

"As opposed to?" the Sheriff asked. "Don't they always?"

"My lord Sheriff, there plan has fallen into our hands. They plan to sneak in through the east gate, in disguise," The guard specified. "We've placed extra guards, so we're ready for their arrival." The guard was surprised when the Sheriff threw the plum at his head, rubbing his temple as if the explanation pained him to hear.

"Do I have to think about every little detail by myself?" he asked.

"No, sir?" The guard answered. The Sheriff picked a peach from the bowl beside him and threw it at the guard.

"I was being rhetorical!" he barked. "Now, if the outlaws see that there are extra guards, they will surely run away. Get rid of the extra guards, close the gates as soon as the outlaws are far enough into the city, and then capture them!"

The guard ran off, ducking so as not to be pelted with an incoming pear. There hadn't really been a reason for throwing the pear, but the Sheriff found that it made him feel much better.

He made a mental note to talk to Gisborne about the standards by which they hired guards at their next meeting, plucking a grape from his fruit bowl and tossing it into his mouth. As if he'd known that the Sheriff was thinking of him, Guy of Gisborne stormed into the Great Hall, looking less than amused. This was perhaps exacerbated by the fact that he slipped on a bit of plum as he walked, which would've sent him tumbling to the floor, had it not been for Allan, who caught him as he fell.

"Not being funny, Giz, but you should watch your step," he commented with a smirk.

"Yes, Giz. You're being awfully clumsy," the Sheriff laughed, enjoying how the younger man cringed at the sound of his nickname. "Now, what did you want?"

"My lord, I am here to remind you that the candidates for the new jailer are still awaiting an audience with you. Until that time, would you like me to appoint a replacement?" Gisborne requested. Allan couldn't believe his luck.

"I'll do it," he said, raising his hand slightly. Gisborne looked at him, shocked.

"You're volunteering? To do work?" he asked incredulously. Allan had only been in his employ for a few months, but he had already figured out that the man tried to get by with doing a minimal amount of actual work.

"That hurt, Giz," Allan replied jokingly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Giz. Don't be so hard on our little genius. He's come up with a number of useful ideas. What have you come up with? Marian?" the Sheriff asked. "If he wants to be in charge of the jail for a little while, let him." Allan took this as permission to head off to the dungeons, waving over his shoulders as he went. Guy wasn't quite sure when Allan had become the Sheriff's new favorite, but he was sure it had something to do with that dreadful nickname.

---

Sorry for the delay, lovelies! I got drop-kicked in the cerebellum by one of my finals, and there was writer's block, and the list goes on.

I just want to say that I think that Guy hates the dreaded "Giz." Also, maybe this was just me, I noticed that the Sheriff seems to be very pleased with SortofEvil!Allan on the show.

Morgan's little story is actually one of the stories from Arabian Nights, which I randomly decided to start reading. In my head, I kept replacing the characters in that particular anecdote with characters from Robin Hood, so I was like, "What the heck? I'll put it in my story."

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! I'll try to get the next chapter up really soon. In the meantime, please review!


	3. Complications

Allan had spent a lot of time in dungeons. His life had in fact consisted of three main parts: time spent committing crimes, time spent on the run, and time spent in dungeons. He'd been in a lot of dungeons. Nottingham's was the worst by far, and he took this new opportunity as a sort of means to correct it. The first thing that he did was make sure that everyone was at least given water. He knew that most of the people in the dungeon were there for ridiculous reasons. Tax evasion, mostly. Some people were there for poaching, which is what had brought Allan to Nottingham's dungeon the first time.

He could hear someone screaming and knew where it was coming from. A small room, with a post in the middle. It was a dark room, lit only by a small grate in the ceiling and a few torches. There were two doors, though neither of them led to freedom. The doors weren't there to get people out. The doors were there so that other prisoners could watch. So they could see what was lined up for them. They'd done it when they'd tortured Allan. Between the floggings, Allan had glanced to the side to see them staring at him, eyes wide with fear. Allan hated that room and everything that it stood for.

It stood for hopelessness and fear. It stood for brokenness and pain. It stood for his betrayal. He tried not to think about it, attending to the other prisoners, hoping that the torturer would finish with his prey. Torture made him sick.

"Allan?" a surprised voice asked. Allan tried not to jump as he turned to face the speaker.

"Renton," he smirked, glad to see a familiar face.

"What are you doing here?" Renton asked, removing his helmet for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"Temporary new jailer," Allan announced with a laugh. The laugh died on his lips as he took in Renton's look of unadulterated horror.

"Are you mad?" Renton asked. "Just because you're the Sheriff's new favorite, doesn't mean that you're immune to curses."

"I'm not his favorite," Allan corrected. "And what are you talking about? What curse?"

"The curse of the jailer, Allan," Renton managed to sound suddenly exhausted, as if he had explained this to Allan before. "I mean, you've noticed that there's a new jailer every time you turn around? The position's cursed, mate." Allan stared for a moment before chuckling.

"Come off it, Rent," he laughed, but Renton maintained his grim expression. "Seriously. I couldn't have asked for a better job at a better time."

"You say that now. It all starts the same. You get the job at what seems to be the best time. Then, we capture some of your gang. Next thing you know, something terrible has happened, and you can't quit fast enough. Either that, or the Sheriff gets angry with you and sends you to the gallows. Happens every time," Renton said knowingly, tapping the side of his nose. "You better get out of here before it's too late."

---

Much hadn't gone to too much trouble to disguise himself. After all, they were trying to get caught. He stopped at the gate, smiling amiably at the guard, who set to inspecting the small cart he was driving.

"Nice day," he noted cheerily. That was true enough. The sky was a clear blue, white clouds floating lazily overhead. The guard grunted, though he didn't seem to really care about the weather.

"Go on through," he said, tapping the side of the cart. Much nodded, clicking his tongue at the horse, which trotted forward. He was slightly confused. He thought for sure that word from Nettlestone would beat them to Nottingham. The guard hadn't even checked to see what he was bringing into the castle! Had he bothered to even glance at the cart, he would've noticed that there were two outlaws, barely obscured by a thin blanket. _Really_, Much thought, _what does one have to do to get arrested?_

He briefly considered getting out of the cart and kicking the guard, a tactic which had worked for him in the past, but he decided against it. If he did that, the guard was likely to arrest him without giving the cart a second glance, and he certainly did not want to go into the dungeons by himself.

Ideas flew through his head as to why the guard had shown such blatant negligence. True, he never suspected that the Sheriff or Gisborne hired guards based on intelligence. Still, it was only common sense to check a cart. He could have at least asked him what his wares were! Much shook his head, agitated. He didn't know what was wrong with that guard, but that didn't change the fact that they needed to get arrested. If they simply leaped out of the cart, that would do the trick, but his plan required that the arrest look genuine.

He was trying to think of what they'd do next, trying to think of a clever way to get caught, when he noticed that the guard had closed the gate behind him. He glanced around, noting that guards were suddenly pouring forth, surrounding his little cart. He heaved a small sigh.

The nearest guard signaled to the rest of them. Much assumed that he was the leader. All at once, the guards drew their swords, pointing them at Much.

"Don't try anything daring, outlaw!" The leader threatened. Much was slightly annoyed. Surely, at least one of the guards had picked up on their names by now. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, knocking on the side of the cart. Will and Djaq sat up in the back of the cart, mirroring the gesture.

The leader stared at the man with the cap. The expression on his face confused him. Was that relief? People that he arrested normally didn't look relieved. Some of them cried. Some of them looked mad. None of them looked relieved. Still, the guard supposed that you had to be insane to be part of Robin Hood's gang. Allan, the Sheriff's new favorite, had come up with plenty of ideas since he started working for Gisborne. They were good ideas, yeah, but they were crazy, too.

Who thinks of putting all of the castle's gold in a giant birdcage? Sure, Robin Hood had nearly gotten Allan killed when he'd shot those bags of coins, but Allan had suggested the simple solution of putting all the coins in boxes before putting them in the birdcage. The leader noticed that the outlaw was staring at him expectantly, and he quickly realized how much he'd let his mind wander.

"Right, take them to the dungeons," he ordered.

---

"Too late, Allan," Renton muttered out of the side of his mouth as the dungeon doors swung open. The guards led Djaq, Much, and Will into the dungeon, seeming pleased with themselves.

"Take them over there," Allan instructed, pointing at one of the nicer cells. The guards looked at him questioningly, and he quickly thought up a cover. "Let them be comfortable. Last night among the living and all." He smiled roguishly. The guards laughed back, except for Renton, who was suddenly preoccupied with a puddle on the stone floor.

The guards shoved their prisoners into the cell, dumping them onto the ground unceremoniously before slamming the door shut. Allan walked over to the cell, fumbling with the large ring of keys.

"You lot can go," he dismissed, finding the correct key and locking the cell. The guards shuffled out of the dungeon slamming the door behind them. Allan winced as the sound echoed off of the walls. What was it with people and slamming doors? He briefly wondered if he should put "how to shut a door like a normal person" on the agenda for the next meeting, but quickly pushed the thought from his mind, turning his attention to his friends.

"Right, they've gone to get the Sheriff. He'll want to see you. Gloat. Dance about a bit. The usual," he began in a hushed voice. "Renton!" The only remaining guard hurried over at Allan's call.

"This is Renton. When the Sheriff comes, he'll order a few extra guards. Renton and I will take care of them. You take their uniforms. Knock us out, and then make a break for it. Clear?" Allan asked. There were nods all around. "Oh, and try not to enjoy the 'knocking us out' part too much." There was a flash of Allan's cheeky grin.

"Yes, but won't you get in trouble?" Djaq asked. Allan shrugged.

"It's hardly my fault if you knock me out," he pointed out. "Now, start acting miserable. You're prisoners, remember?" Just as the outlaws had adopted their best "misery" faces, the dungeon door swung open again, and the Sheriff paraded in, followed by a comparatively sour looking Guy of Gisborne.

"This is it?" the Sheriff asked as he approached the cell. "We didn't get Robin Hood?"

"No, my lord sheriff," one of the guards pointed out. It was all the Sheriff could do not to smack himself in the forehead. He mentally added "rhetoric" to the list of things to discuss at the next meeting.

"Not even the big one? Not the one that yells a lot?" he asked again, his glare daring the guards to answer him. He stamped his foot and flung an accusatory finger at the cell. "You caught all the runty ones!" This was said with a definite pout.

"Look on the bright side," Allan piped up. "This one is Robin's right hand man, right? So, when we hang them in the morning, Robin's sure to turn up for them." The Sheriff considered this fact, nodding with approval.

"Good point, Allan," he commented. "Look on the bright side." Allan would've smiled, but there was a calculating edge to the Sheriff's tone that told the trickster that the old man was up to something. He could practically see the wheels turning.

"Allan, see that there is a noose ready for tomorrow," he instructed.

"_A_ noose?" Allan asked, making sure that he'd heard correctly.

"Come now, Allan. You're my favorite. Don't go ruining it with bothersome things like questions. Now, prepare one, singular, solitary, unaccompanied noose for the morning," The Sheriff clarified, leaving no room for mistake. Gisborne wrinkled his nose.

"My lord, do you plan to hang them one at a time?" he asked.

"A clue: no," the Sheriff shook his head. "We only need to hang one of them." He sauntered over to the cell, inspecting the outlaws. He pointed at the Saracen, beckoning to her.

"You," he called, noting with delight how the other two moved protectively in front of her. "Oh, I like this. This is good. Someone fetch me some parchment, a pen, and my seal." As one of the guards ran off to follow his order, the Sheriff grinned at the outlaws.

"You see, Gisborne, this is a golden opportunity. We send the pretty, little Saracen with a note to our dear friend Robin Hood. The note tells him that we plan to hang his friend Much in the morning. Robin comes tomorrow to rescue his little friend, blah di blah di blah. We end up with one dead Robin Hood!" The Sheriff declared, rubbing his hands together with delight. "Now, Allan, Gisborne, I need to speak with you in the hallway."

Allan and Guy exchanged confused glances as they followed the Sheriff out of the dungeons. They found him in the hall, where the guard had returned with his things. The Sheriff used the guard's back as a table, writing as he addressed Allan and Guy.

"Now, the note says that we will hang Much at precisely nine tomorrow morning. We will hang him at eight, of course. That way, when Robin and his little play pals arrive, they won't have anyone to rescue," The Sheriff revealed. "If Much is as dear to Robin as you say, Allan, we should get a noticeable reaction from him."

"And if you don't, my lord?" Gisborne asked. "Do we then schedule a hanging for the other one?"

"No, no. The other one is part of the contingency plan. If Robin escapes tomorrow, we'll get the other one to tell us where the outlaws are camping," the Sheriff corrected.

"Not being funny, but Will isn't exactly the talkative type," Allan muttered.

"Yes, well, we can fix that," The Sheriff reassured, clapping a hand on Allan's shoulder, handing him a sealed letter. "Give this to the girl." Allan did as he was told, walking numbly back into the dungeons, the Sheriff and Gisborne following after him. His mind was racing, trying to adjust to the very large hole that the Sheriff had just punched in his plan.

He picked out the key, unlocking the cell door. Two of the guards pushed past Much and Will, dragging Djaq from the cell. Allan avoided her heated gaze as he handed her the note.

"Come on! Let us go and release our own messenger bird!" The Sheriff announced, leading a parade of guards from the dungeon. They marched out to the portcullis, pushing Djaq forward. For a moment, she stood stock still.

"How do I know you will not follow me?" she asked suspiciously. The Sheriff sighed. Women. He gave her a shove in the back, pushing her just outside of the portcullis. He stepped back, gesturing with his hand. The portcullis was immediately shut.

"Go on. Fly away," he prompted, miming a bird with his hands. Djaq hesitated a moment longer before she sped out of Nottingham, clutching the note in her hand as she ran.

---

"Don't worry, Allan will think of something," Renton nodded confidently. Much and Will did not return the gesture. Much bit his thumbnail. He supposed that his plan was going to prove his point: rushing into the castle with only half of a plan and ignoring people who tell you it's a bad idea would only lead to trouble. Still, he couldn't help but think that they were in a bit more trouble than he had planned for.

Soon enough, Allan returned with several guards. He looked a bit shaken, hating the way that his perfect plan had performed a complete about face. He shot an anxious look at Renton, who mouthed the word "curse" at him, shaking his head gravely.

"Scarper," Allan commanded.

"But the Sheriff said to guard the prisoners," one of the guards protested. In a move that he had picked up from Gisborne, Allan backhanded the protesting guard, barking his order again.

"Did I stutter? I said leave!" The guards obliged, getting out of the dungeon, deciding that waiting outside the door technically counted as watching the dungeon. Allan kicked the door shut, taking a deep breath as he stomped back to Renton. He tried to calm down. He had been a little too good at acting like Gisborne for his liking.

"Sheriff plans to hang you at eight, but the note he sent with Djaq says that you'll hang at nine. Just like," Allan stopped for a moment. "Just like he did with Tom." Much waited for him to continue. There was something else he had to say, but the frown that had taken his features said that he didn't want to.

"Allan, Sheriff wants a word," one of the guards said from the doorway. Allan sighed, shooting an apologetic glance at Much and Will before walking out of the dungeon, still madly trying to think of a way to get the two men that had trusted him out of the dungeon.

---

Ok, so things are about to get crazy. Seriously nutters.

Don't worry, Allan hasn't turned his back on Much and Will. The Sheriff's just gone and thrown a wrench in his plans, that's all.

This chapter had an awful lot of introspection, and several references to "the next meeting." I don't know that such meetings exist, but I keep imagining meetings that take place in everyday work places, where the supervisor tries to give a pep talk to the underpaid, overworked employees. That makes me laugh, sorry.

Also, I'd like to point out that I believe in the curse of the jailer. It seems to me that they're always getting stabbed…

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Please review!


	4. Decisions

Djaq had never run so quickly in her life. She had her head down as she pushed forward, her eyes screwed shut to stop the tears. Why had they agreed to this plan? She knew the answer to the question, even as she repeated it over and over in her head. It was because Much was worried. It was sad, but the frenzied part of Djaq's brain suggested that it was also sweet. Robin and Much were closer than anyone she'd ever seen. They were closer than friends, tighter than brothers. There wasn't really a word for what they were. They were Robin and Much, and that was that. Much had become increasingly worried about Robin's recklessness. He had tried everything. He'd tried reasoning with Robin. He'd tried pleading. He'd tried yelling. With each failed attempt, he'd grown more and more desperate to prove to Robin that he was endangering himself.

So, he'd resorted to putting himself in harm's way. Djaq knew Much well enough to know that the man was not suicidal. He was always one of the first people up in the morning, ready to watch the sunrise. He relished in the time he spent with his friends, especially when they spent nights sitting around the fire, telling stories and laughing together. The core of the matter was that Much loved living. He definitely didn't have a death wish. The thing of it was that Much valued Robin's life more than his own. Djaq supposed that it was part of their unique relationship. If Much thought that endangering his own life would save Robin's, he would move forward in an instant.

It wasn't like they'd rushed in without a plan. They merely made it look like they did. That was kind of the point. Much had considered every aspect of his plot, making only one assumption: that the Sheriff would leave them all in the jail cell to stew. Clearly, Allan had thought the same thing. He had certainly seemed jarred enough when the Sheriff had announced his own scheme. She clenched the note in her fist, feeling it crumple slightly. She was so focused on running that she slammed headfirst into someone. She felt on her back, but quickly scrambled to her feet.

"Djaq?" Robin's voice served as something of an anchor, bringing her out of the mad maelstrom that was her thoughts. He looked every bit as upset as she was, and she hesitated to think about how much worse he would get when he read the Sheriff's letter.

"Robin," she started, looking around Robin to see that Little John and Morgan were right behind him. They were staring at her, very aware that something had gone wrong. "Robin, it all went wrong." Without another word, she handed the letter to Robin. He nearly ripped it in half as he tore it open, his eyes darting over the words. He looked up at Djaq, unsure of what to do. Half of him said that he should reprimand her for encouraging Much to do something so stupid. Half of him wanted to rush into Nottingham and free his best friend.

"Why?" he finally asked, unable to keep the hurt and confusion from his voice. Djaq bit her bottom lip.

"He was worried, Robin," she tried to explain, but she knew that she couldn't. "You'll have to talk to him about it."

"First, we need to stop and think," Little John ordered. He didn't usually give orders; that was Robin's job, but at times like this, he considered it his duty to reel everyone in. "We go to camp." Robin looked ready to argue, but he glanced at the note in his hand, realizing Much's entire point. He needed to listen.

"We go to camp," he agreed softly.

---

Morgan had never seen him look so horrifyingly dejected. They had returned to camp, attempting to gather themselves, attempting to think about what was happening. After pacing back and forth for several minutes, Robin had gone to his bed, lying on his stomach, staring into the dying fire. Djaq had left camp, needing time to herself, and Little John had gone for firewood. Morgan supposed that Robin needed someone to talk to. She sat next to Robin's bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She didn't say anything, but offered her presence.

Robin glanced at her, staring for a moment before he finally spoke.

"Have you always had that ring on your finger?" he asked. Morgan shook her head.

"No. I just got it a little over a month ago," she replied, giving him a gentle smile. She knew full well that she wasn't the one that Robin needed to be talking to. He needed to talk to Marian. He needed to talk to Much. But, as neither of them was available, he talked to her.

"Do I really have a listening problem?" he asked. "Am I a bad leader because of it?" Morgan knew that Much had initiated this whole plan to make Robin think, but she doubted that he meant for it to be like this. Morgan gingerly put a hand on Robin's shoulder, giving it a light pat.

"You are a good leader, Robin. Michael used to say so all the time," she confided. "And we wouldn't follow you if you were a bad leader."

"But I do have a listening problem," Robin concluded. Morgan paused, not sure how to handle that one. She couldn't help but think that the other would be far better at this sort of thing. Sometimes, she was just too blunt.

"Robin, you're normally good at listening, just not when you're upset. And you've had a lot to be upset about lately. I know how upset you are, about Marian and all," she comforted. "It's hard to be away from someone you love, especially when you're betrothed and all."

"How did you know that?" Robin asked, sitting up. He couldn't recall telling anyone about his proposal to Marian. Morgan stared back at him, not understanding what he meant.

"Because I was there," she answered slowly, "usually that's what happens when someone proposes to you." Robin glanced down at the ring on Morgan's finger, his eyes widening in understanding.

"You and Allan?" he asked.

"Aye, who did you think?" Morgan asked, smiling. The smile quickly slid from her face as she came to a realization of her own.

"You and Marian!" she whispered. Robin nodded.

"Of course," he muttered. "It is hard. It's really hard. I don't mean to drown people out, least of all Much, but I miss her so much." Morgan gave him half a smile.

"Understandable. Look, Robin, this is something that you need to talk out with Much. I honestly don't think I can help, I have a listening problem myself," she admitted, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Robin scoffed amusedly, sitting up and nodding with new fortitude. Djaq wandered back into the camp, followed closely by Little John, who was carrying a large pile of wood. He immediately started to build the fire back up. Djaq took a seat next to Morgan, simply waiting.

"I have a plan," Morgan announced suddenly. She paused, considering her statement. "Well, sort of half of a plan."

"And what does this sort of half of a plan entail?" Robin asked.

---

Allan maintained his indifferent expression, but he felt sick on his stomach. The Sheriff was grinning, pleased with himself to no end, though that was hardly irregular for him.

"So, we torture the stoic one, let the other one hang about until he hangs," he plotted out loud. "If we start now, we should break him by tomorrow afternoon." Allan didn't know what disgusted him more, the fact that the Sheriff was guessing on how long it would take to break a human being's spirit, or the fact that he was probably right. He vividly remembered his own time in the torture room. He remembered every punch, every slap, every crack of the whip against his skin.

Before, torture hadn't meant anything to him. He'd always managed to slip out of punishment before it ever came to that. He'd taken beatings before, but they were merely beatings. Torture was different. Torture was deliberate. Torture was drawn out. He had to think of something, anything to keep Will from that fate. He swallowed, putting on an air of confidence that he wasn't so sure he had.

"What if we could get him to break before?" he asked. The Sheriff looked at him, eagerly awaiting the information that would lead to such a thing. Guy also looked intrigued. Allan said a quick prayer, hoping that he knew what he was getting into before he took a breath and continued.

"I'm not saying that the torturer is good at what he does, believe me," he muttered, "but it does take a while, doesn't it? What if we tried something new?"

"Yes, yes. Get on with it," The Sheriff urged.

"Alright, which one is scarier? The woods at noon, or the woods at night?" he asked. He didn't get an answer right away, and he tried asking one of them directly. "Giz?" Gisborne didn't answer him. Allan suspected that the man was boycotting his nickname, but it also occurred to him that Guy of Gisborne wasn't about to admit to being scared of anything.

"The answer was 'the woods at night,' but thanks for playing," the former outlaw grumbled. "Things are scarier if you don't know what's going on, okay?"

"Yes, but what's the point?" The Sheriff asked, glancing over at the fruit bowl on the table. Allan sensed the older man's boredom and cleared his throat.

"The point is, people are scared by what they can't see. A scared person breaks faster than a calm person. So, what if we make sure he gets a good look at the instruments of torture, then throw a hood over his head?" Allan blurted out. For a moment, he thought that he had failed miserably. Then, a light seemed to shine in the Sheriff's eye. Allan had seen it before, and he didn't like it. It was joy, but the Sheriff didn't experience joy like normal people did.

"You are brilliant, dear boy!" the man proclaimed, practically dancing as he walked over to Allan, putting his hands on his shoulders and giving him a vigorous shake.

"Giz, this is the reason that he is my new favorite!" the Sheriff crowed. Gisborne made sure that his boss wasn't looking before he rolled his eyes.

"I'll go get the outlaw ready then?" Allan asked. The Sheriff patted him on the cheek.

"Go!" he commanded. Allan nodded in lieu of the expected salute and walked off to the dungeons. The Sheriff sighed after him. "Oh, Guy. Our little boy is growing up so fast." Guy resisted the urge to stab himself in the stomach with his sword. Sometimes, he questioned the Sheriff's sanity. He revised that thought. He always questioned Vaysey's sanity; he sometimes questioned his peculiar behavior.

---

"Torture? That's how you plan to help?" Will asked, backing away from Allan. Allan sighed, expecting the reaction.

"Trust me, Will. It's the only way I can get you out of here alive," he muttered, opening the cell door. "Now, come on. There isn't much time." Much gave a derisive scoff.

"Surely, you don't expect him to willingly walk to a torture chamber," he commented under his breath. Allan ran his fingers through his hair, stepping into the cell.

"Will, please. Trust me," he repeated. Will hesitated for a moment before nodding, walking calmly out of the cell. Allan led him down to the torture chamber, shuddering at the sight of the wooden post.

"Is this where they kept you?" Will asked. Allan didn't respond, unable to make himself speak. Will assumed that his silence meant 'yes.' Suddenly, he had a better understanding of how Gisborne had persuaded him to become a spy.

"What's your plan, Allan?" Will asked. Allan looked at him, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry, Will," he muttered, drawing his sword. Will backed up an involuntary step.

"Allan, what are you doing?" The last thing that Will saw before blacking out was the hilt of a sword flying at his face.

---

Renton carried the covered body out of the castle with no challenge. People often died in the dungeons, and their bodies were usually deposited in the forest.

"Another one for the woods," he explained hollowly to the guard at the portcullis. He felt as though he was doing something helpful, but his deeds of just minutes ago made him feel uneasy.

He forced himself to remain calm. The guard raised the portcullis, and Renton had to force himself not to break into a run. He walked calmly out, sparing a wave as he went. He was surprised at how taxing his task was. The carpenter looked as skinny as a twig, but he was heavier than he looked. He was young, too. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. No older than twenty. He heaved a sigh as he neared the woods.

Once he had decided that he was out far enough, he stopped to take a breather. He heard the snapping of a twig and looked around. Allan had told him to expect as much, and that detracted greatly from his panic.

"Don't move," a voice said. Renton breathed a sigh of relief. That was Robin Hood for sure.

"Hello, I don't mean any harm. I've actually come to help," he announced, turning to face Robin. The man looked tired and angry, and he was aiming his bow straight at his forehead. Not a good combination, to be sure.

"Rent?" another familiar voice asked. Morgan peeked out from behind a tree, moving forward. "It's alright, Robin. This is Renton. He's a friend." Robin mulled it over for a moment before lowering his bow.

"Hello, Morgan. Good to see you," Renton greeted pleasantly.

"Likewise. What are you doing out here, Rent?" Morgan asked. Renton nodded at the body in his arms, removing the blanket that covered him. Djaq gasped and moved forward, surveying the bloody mark on Will's forehead.

"Oh, please, don't panic, miss," Renton stuttered quickly, "He's fine. He's just unconscious. And a bit heavy." At that hint, Little John stepped forward, taking Will from the exhausted looking guard. Once relieved of his duty, the man removed his helmet, wiping his forehead clean of the sweat.

"Anyway, I'm glad that you were already out here. Allan's bought some time, but he won't be able to help any longer," he stated solemnly, "So, he told me to tell you that the Sheriff and Gisborne don't know about any entrances or exits near the blacksmith's quarters."

"Why can't he help anymore?" Robin asked, "Too busy running errands for the Sheriff?" Renton shook his head, missing the scathing tone of Robin's comment.

"No, not at all. He's creating a diversion. He says that once the alarm is raised, you need to break in through the back entrance, get Much, and get out. Morgan, do you know which entrance?" Renton asked. Morgan nodded.

"I know of it. What kind of diversion is he making?" she asked.

"He said that you'd ask, and he said not to worry," Renton answered quickly. "Now, I've really got to get back. If I'm gone to long, they'll send in a replacement guard, and that'll make it harder for you to get to Much." He felt that he didn't need to explain anymore and quickly started back towards the castle. Robin turned his attention to Djaq, who was cleaning Will's head wound.

"He's alright. Just has a bump," Djaq diagnosed. "He should wake up soon." Robin nodded, glancing back at the castle. Just how had Allan managed to get Will out of the dungeon? Why hadn't he also helped Much? One look at Morgan told the Lord of Locksley that she was thinking the same, though she was probably far more worried about what kind of distraction Allan had conjured up.

"Morgan, how well do you know that man?" Robin asked.

"He's a good bloke. Loyal to the king. The only reason he works at the castle is to support his family. He's got two children, and the wife's expecting another. We can trust him, if that's what you want to know," Morgan promised.

"Then we'll wait here until we here the alarm. Djaq, see if you can't get Will back on his feet before then," he put forward. "Let's hope this distraction of Allan's works."

---

Sorry to end on a cliffhanger! I promise to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!

In the next chapter, I promise that you'll find out the answer to most of your questions. I hope.

Sorry about the distinct lack of fluff in this story! That's kind of why I took such a lighthearted angle to writing the Sheriff's bits. XD

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Please review!


	5. Repercussions

The torturer was perplexed. The man in front of him wasn't screaming. Well, he _was_ screaming, but he wasn't begging for mercy or crying or, most importantly, giving up information. It was obvious that the man was terrified, more terrified than anyone he'd ever seen before. The torturer supposed that it was because of the hood. He wondered why he'd never thought of it before, putting a hood over someone's head as a scare tactic. He shook his head. It was because he wanted to see their eyes. He wanted to see the tears well up as he pressed the hot poker to their skin. He wanted to see the hope fade away as he moved on to the more complicated methods of torture. Horse-whipping was always the most effective. Sometimes, when he would pull out the more complicated instruments, there was confusion. People didn't understand what the more complicated instruments were for, but everyone knew what a whip was.

But the man in front of him had taken a flogging with only grunts. And he'd given him a proper flogging, no doubt about it. There was a muffled quality to the grunts, which the torturer attributed to the hood. It did make his job a little more difficult, but the differing effects were worth it. Every time he moved his tools, the man flinched. He was also shaking something dreadful. The torturer wondered where Allan had scampered off to. He scoffed. Probably taking a nap somewhere. Guy had said that he would be coming soon, so he supposed he should put a few more bruises down before then. He picked the whip up from the table, cracking it against the ground. He grinned as the man tried furiously to worm out of his bonds, recognizing that horrible sound and what it meant.

The torturer cracked the whip against the man's flesh, inspecting his work as deep gashes opened along the man's skin. Where the man had withstood the regular flogging, the torturer was pleased to see that the cracks of the whip against his skin wrenched the screams from his lungs. He continued his work with a level of skill that most would find disturbing. The whip marks were soon everywhere, cutting across the man's bare torso, the blood dripping down, mingling with sweat before falling in thick drops on the floor.

"Anything yet?" The torturer was far too wrapped up in his work to jump, though he was markedly surprised by the sound of Gisborne's voice. He had been too wrapped up in his job to really take notice of the man's entrance. The torturer cracked the whip across the man's skin once more before turning to Gisborne, a pleased look warping his features.

"Not yet, my lord, but I've only just started. I was about to turn him over, even things out," At this suggestion, Gisborne watched as the torturer turned the man around, with the help of a guard. The torturer went back to work almost immediately, covering the man's back with whip marks. There were more screams, and, to Guy's satisfaction, there were a few distinct sobs, but the man wasn't talking. He would grunt with pain, but no more. Guy assumed that he was stopping himself from talking. He soon grew bored with just watching, and pushed the torturer aside.

"I want the cattle prod," he instructed, grinning as the man shook with fear, hearing the hiss of the heated metal poker. Guy took the poker in his hands pressing it against the man's back. The outlaw screamed in agony, though it was muffled. Guy could tell that the man was trying not to whimper.

"This'll be over quickly, if you'll just talk," he purred, like a tiger on the verge of a kill. When the man didn't answer, he administered the blazing tip to another spot on the man's back. "Your choice, outlaw."

---

"Will?" Will recognized the soothing voice instantly, and a smile flickered across his lips. It was quickly dashed by the throbbing pain that hit him like a wave. He tried to sit up, but someone held him down. The voice, serving almost like a cure for his headache, sounded again. "Will?"

"Djaq," he replied, slowly opening his eyes. Djaq was sitting next to him, her hand stroking his forehead, her eyes filled with relief. "Did you come back for me already?" He had to admit that he was slightly confused. He vaguely remembered the dungeon. He remembered Allan's eyes, flashing him an apologetic glance before it all went black. Allan. Anger welled up in the pit of Will's stomach. He felt like a fool. He had trusted Allan, and the man had betrayed him. Again. It was almost like Djaq was reading his thoughts, because she put a cold rag on his forehead and smiled.

"Allan managed to smuggle you out. He created a diversion. Now, how did you get that bump on your head?" she asked, concerned. Will quickly sat up.

"Allan hit me," he confided. "He was going to have me tortured." Djaq furrowed her brow in confusion, shaking her head.

"No, the guard that carried you out here said that Allan was creating a diversion, and that we are supposed to wait for a signal to go and get Much," Djaq corrected.

"Well, if he was saving me, why did he knock me out?" Will countered, his hand moving to the bruise on his head. Djaq shrugged.

"I don't know. What was he doing when he knocked you out?" she asked, trying to logically push through this conundrum. Logic never failed her in the past.

"He said that the sheriff had ordered me to be tortured, and he said that he had a plan." Will recollected, closing his eyes in thought. "He led me down to the torture chamber, and that's when he hit me."

"Was this before or after you traded clothes?" Djaq asked. Will furrowed his brow in confusion, looking down at his body. He was indeed wearing Allan's uniform. He couldn't help but smile at the fact that the pants were several inches too short. Still, it didn't make sense.

"Why would he knock me out and take my clothes?" he asked slowly. "Where's Morgan? She knows how he thinks." Djaq pointed discretely at a tree. Morgan was perched in the branches, staring worriedly out at Nottingham.

"She hasn't moved since that guard dropped you off. She's worried," Djaq muttered softly. "I don't think that we should bother her right now." Will wasn't sure that he agreed. Morgan was honestly starting to make him worry, primarily because she was being perfectly still, a trait that the carpenter didn't often see in his surrogate sister.

"Morgan," Will called, "I need to talk to you!" Morgan was out of the tree and crouching next to him before he could say another word. She seemed glad for the interruption, her thoughts obviously allowing her little comfort.

"Will, didn't know you were awake. You alright?" she asked quickly.

"I'm fine. Morgan, why did Allan take my clothes?" Will asked, tugged at the black uniform he was currently wearing. Morgan looked him over, trying to think of a reason.

"I don't know," she confessed, gently biting on the knuckle of her index finger. "I have no idea." Will stared at the uniform for another minute before he started checking the pockets.

"Maybe he left a message for us," he explained as Djaq and Morgan looked questioningly at his actions. Will found a few coins and a folded piece of parchment, which he promptly handed to Djaq. He could only read a little bit, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to try anything with his head throbbing like it was. Djaq unfolded the parchment, staring in slight confusion.

"Marry me?" she said. Will's eyes widened.

"Is now the right time?" he asked in a low voice. Djaq chalked his reaction up to the bump on the head and smiled warmly.

"That's what that paper says," she giggled. Will blushed, embarrassed.

"I knew that," he mumbled. Morgan sniggered and gave him a playful punch in the arm.

"It's alright, Will. We won't tell anyone," she reassured.

"Morgan, is this a note for you?" Djaq asked, waving the parchment slightly, changing the subject. Morgan went a bit pink in the cheeks, holding up her hand, wriggling her ring finger, drawing attention to the silver band and the gemstone.

"Congratulations, Morgan," Djaq whispered, hugging her best friend. Morgan returned the hug, and the two began to discuss plans for the wedding in soft, excited whispers. Will supposed it was a girl thing and cleared his throat.

"We are still trying to figure out why Allan knocked me out, right?" he asked. At that moment, Robin and Little John walked over, finally taking notice of that fact that Will was awake.

"Will, how're you holding up?" Robin asked.

"More importantly, what are you wearing?" Little John laughed. "Expecting a flood?" Despite the tense situation, everyone had a bit of a laugh at Little John's comment.

"We were just discussing it, actually," Will mentioned. "Allan knocked me out and switched clothes with me, but we don't know why." Robin pondered this strange turn in events, all the while keeping an ear out for the alarm.

"He's insane," Little John voiced, ignoring the defensive glare that Morgan had automatically fixed him with. Robin finally spoke.

"I don't think he's insane," he muttered, glancing up at the expectant group. "There is definite reason behind his actions." He was sure that he had worked out what Allan meant to do, but he hesitated to say it in front of everyone, leastwise Morgan. They were having enough trouble keeping her from rushing into Nottingham as it was.

---

Much hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. He was humming quietly to himself, quite frankly unnerved by the plan that Renton had relayed to him. He had never really gotten along with Allan in the past. Allan picked on him. Allan was loud. Allan was rude. Still, they'd formed something of a bond with each other. Much would've even called Allan his friend, before this whole traitor business had come to the surface. He had decided that Allan had done what he had done because he was a coward. But the plan that Renton had shakily explained to Much completely contradicted his theory.

Much wasn't about to lie. Allan was being very brave. Much could hear his muffled screams, mixed with Gisborne's increasingly angry threats. He shuddered, not wanting to think about what was going on in that small room, and why it was happening. Much thought instead of the gang. How worried he suspected Robin was. How relieved they all were to know that Will was safe, and that Allan had basically secured Much's escape. Thinking of the gang didn't really help for long. Soon, his thoughts drifted to Morgan, and how upset she was going to be about this entire, messy ordeal.

What if she blamed him? Much shook his head, knowing that this was ridiculous. Morgan had a temper, but she wouldn't blame Much for this. Still, he felt responsible. It had been his plan, after all, that had snowballed into this giant disaster. He heard another pain-filled scream and slowly plugged his ears. He couldn't bear to hear it anymore. He hoped that it would stop soon.

---

"This isn't working," Guy hissed at the torturer, as if it was his fault that the outlaw hadn't broken yet. The outlaw had been screaming and grunting and moaning, but he hadn't said a single word. Guy paused, staring at the outlaw. He kicked the man in his stomach, grinding his boot into him, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him. The man gave another muffled scream. Guy contemplated the scream. There was no way that a simple hood could alter a man's voice like that. He listened closer. The outlaw was whimpering, as if trying to speak. Gisborne furrowed his brow.

"He's trying to talk. Why can't he?" he asked. The torturer shrugged.

"Maybe the pain's addled his mind," he threw out helpfully. Gisborne shook his head. It didn't explain why the man's speech was muffled. Acting on a hunch, Guy pulled the hood from his head, doing nothing to hide his surprise.

"Allan!" he gasped, taking in his right-hand man. He had been gagged, which explained why he hadn't spoken up sooner. Guy felt his stomach drop. He had become friends with Allan over the past few months, even though the shorter man sometimes annoyed him. Still, he was one of Guy's men. He had been loyal to Guy. And Guy had just helped beat him within an inch of his life.

"Sound the alarm. Call for the physician," Gisborne barked, removing the gag from Allan's mouth.

"Sorry, Giz," he mumbled, slipping in and out of consciousness. "He got the drop on me." Guy ignored the nonsensical apology, quickly untying Allan from the wooden post. Renton poked his head into the room.

"Sir Guy? What's going on?" he asked, paling at the sight of Allan's beaten form. The man looked like a collage of whip marks, bruises, and burns.

"The outlaw has escaped! Sound the alarm and get the physician!" Guy barked again, wondering why the insipid torturer hadn't already done so. Renton obliged right away, his panicked cries filling the castle. Guy checked Allan's pulse, using his limited medical training to try and measure the extent of the damage done. Gingerly poking at the man's ribs, he was relieved to find that none of them were broken.

"That hurts," Allan muttered.

"Allan, why didn't you say anything?" Guy demanded angrily.

"Tried," was the reply. Guy felt his stomach churn. The whimpering hadn't been whimpering. Allan had been trying to tell him what was going on. Guy looked over Allan once more, taking in all of the damage that he had inflicted on him. The physician certainly had his work cut out for him.

---

As soon as the alarm was raised, Marian sat up in her bed. She hadn't left her room all day, deciding that Gisborne's rekindled affection for her to be a bit smothering. She threw a dress on, opening her door to find that her guard was gone. This struck her as odd, seeing as she hadn't been able to leave her room without a guard since her return to the castle.

"Lady Marian?" a voice asked. She turned to see a guard leaning against the wall, panting heavily. He must've been the one who had just raised the alarm. She recognized him as a regularly cheerful man, but there was no joy to be found on his face now.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"I can't say right now, but something's happened in the dungeons. I'm heading back now," he hinted, catching his breath before running back. Marian followed at a distance, putting on her best innocent look as they walked into the dungeons. There was a small crowd of guards, and Marian could hear the mutterings of the castle's new physician.

"Put him on the stretcher. Gently!" she was saying. Marian stepped back as the crowd of guards parted, carrying a stretcher past. For all the guards, Marian couldn't see who was on the stretcher, but the way the physician was carrying on, Marian guessed that he was in terrible shape. Guy followed the stretcher out, stopping when he caught sight of Marian.

"Guy? What's wrong?" she asked, genuinely concerned. He looked utterly shaken and irrefutably guilty. He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. Shaking his head, he pushed past Marian, following the stretcher out of the dungeon, closing the door behind him.

"Lady Marian," the guard from before said gently. She followed his voice to the main set of cells, immediately noticing Much, who looked more horrified than Guy had. The guard had removed his helmet, pulling back the thin mail from around his head, revealing a mop of blonde hair.

"I'm sorry that we have to have this talk here, but it's the only private place," he apologized. "My name's Renton, by the way." He didn't seem to want to continue, as if he was ashamed.

"Today, we caught three of Robin Hood men. Allan was trying to get them all out safely. The Sheriff wanted to torture Will, you know, the carpenter, and Allan…" he couldn't continue.

"Allan switched places with Will," Much finished, standing up. "He knew that he could get Will out if he did it, and he knew that when Guy found out, he'd raise the alarm. Robin is coming to get me in all of confusion.

"Allan's been tortured?" Marian asked, recalling the stretcher, and Guy's look of self-loathing. "That's why Guy was so upset."

"He should be, he did half of it himself," Much muttered. "You better get out of here. Go to Gisborne. If you're with him, you have an alibi, and you won't be suspected when I escape." Marian nodded, getting out of the dungeons as soon as possible."

---

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I did it for the drama! I'm sorry!

The next chapter should wrap everything up nice and neat.

Please, please, please don't be mad at me! Hoped you all enjoyed! Please review!


	6. Guilt

How could so much blood come from one person? The question floated through Guy's head as he watched the physician at work. She was far more efficient than that Blight fool, moving quickly, cleaning out the score of gashes that were plastered all over Allan's body. Allan was being held down, and he squirmed under the ministrations of the physician, his stifled grunts of pain reminding Guy of the torture chamber. More appalling than the screams, though was the frightful amount of blood that oozed from Allan's injuries. It was everywhere. On the doctor's hands, on the sheets of the cot they'd laid Allan down on, on pile of once-white rags that the physician had used to clean him up. Guy glanced down at his gloved hands, almost retching when he realized that the blood was on his hands, too.

"Is he alright?" Guy cringed. She was the last person that he wanted to see right now. How could he face her after committing such a heinous deed? Still, he turned to face her, shaking slightly. She wasn't looking at him, and he was almost relieved. She was instead staring at the physician, whose hands were practically flying over the numerous wounds splashed across Allan's skin.

"The burns are the worst of them. The blisters will need to be removed, and I'll keep an eye out for infection, though I can almost guarantee it will happen. If he gets through the fever, he'll be fine," The physician explained, her tone gentle, though she didn't try to dance around the issue. Guy shook his head. There couldn't be an "if he gets through!" He had to know that he hadn't just killed someone whom he considered to be a friend. He had to know that Allan would live. He had to know that Marian wouldn't see him as a hard-hearted killer. He glanced back at Marian, who had placed a hand over her mouth, stepping closer, trying to get a better look at Allan. She noticed Guy's panicked expression and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You should go and get something to drink," she instructed calmly. "Something to calm your nerves." Guy nodded, obeying without thinking, marching off to the kitchen. Marian turned her attention back to Allan, who was unconscious for the moment. The guards had filed out, giving the doctor room to work. The new doctor was slightly older, but not quite old. She was actually a very nice woman, and she instantly noticed that Marian was staring at Allan's torso.

"There are so many," Marian commented quietly. The physician heaved a sigh, cleaning out a particularly dirty wound.

"There are," she agreed. "I've cleaned most of them out. He needs stitches, though. Have you any training?" Marian nodded slowly.

"A little bit," she admitted. The physician nodded.

"Will you help me sew him up? The faster we finish, the better." Marian nodded, cleaning her hands and taking up a clean needle. Allan was shaking terribly, sweat pouring down his face.

"Morgan," he mumbled in his sleep. Marian glanced up at the physician, wondering if she had heard. The older woman managed a kind smile.

"Must be the name of his sweetheart. Injured men often cry out for them," the physician noted, but she didn't seem to care enough to tell the Sheriff. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Marian put a cold rag on his forehead, marveling at the man's bravery. He had submitted himself to torture to save his friends. Marian made a mental note to tell Robin as soon as she saw him.

---

Morgan didn't pause as she led the gang through her old shop, too worried about rescuing Much and making sure that Allan was alright. She took the most direct way that she could without being seen by the guards, who were all occupied with searching for Will. Morgan practically flew into the dungeon, her sword drawn, ready to fight. Thankfully, Renton was the only guard present. Noting the arrival of his mates, Much stood, gripping the bars of the cell door, which Renton promptly opened. Much stepped out of the cell, expecting to be yelled at. Surely, Robin had found out that this had all started out as his idea to trick him, and that he had recklessly endangered Will and Djaq, and that he had forced Allan to make a terrible decision.

To his surprise, Robin flung his arms around him, catching him in a bear hug. He accepted the hug, unmoving for a moment before he gingerly patted Robin on the back.

"Master?" he asked, nonplussed.

"You proved me wrong! I'm sorry, Much. I promise that I'll never ignore you again! I'll listen to every word you say! I value your advice, and I value your friendship, and if I ever act foolishly again, just say the word, and I will stop!" Robin blurted out.

"Master, we should probably discuss this later. We _are_ still in the dungeon," Much pointed out. Robin nodded, releasing his closest friend and taking a step back.

"What about Allan? Is he alright?" Morgan asked. Little John noticed the way that Much paled and cleared his throat.

"First, we go to the camp," he said gently. Morgan seemed more than ready to argue, but she nodded, leading them out of the castle.

---

Guy hated that his hands were shaking. He tried to steady them, raising the goblet to his lips, taking a large swig of wine. How could he have failed to notice that he was beating his own right-hand man? How could he have failed to realize that the man he had just tortured, nearly to death, was of a completely different build than the outlaw that he was meant to have interrogated. He took a deep breath, realizing that he hadn't woken the Sheriff up yet. He shook his head, drinking more wine. No, he wouldn't bother. The Sheriff might have paraded around and called Allan his "favorite," but all that really meant to the older man was that Allan provided him with the most entertainment. He didn't really care about the man's well-being.

It was the one thing about the Sheriff that Guy couldn't bring himself to emulate: his complete disregard for human life. True, Guy had no problem bringing punishment down on outlaws and thugs, grown men who had done something to earn his anger. But he couldn't bring himself to pass the same fury onto children, or people that he called friends. But he had done it. He had nearly killed Allan. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, debating whether or not he could go back, force himself to look at the broken body that he had helped create, force himself to endure Marian's gaze. He shook his head and drained his goblet. No, he couldn't face what he'd done. Not yet.

---

The group had returned to the camp, not asking any questions when Robin and Much didn't follow them inside, electing instead to pick their way down to the river, sitting beside each other as they watched the water flow.

"I'm sorry, Master," Much began. "I was just so worried about you! I couldn't get you to stop and listen! I was afraid that you were going to get yourself killed, so…" his eyes returned to the river.

"It's my fault, Much," Robin said. Much's stare immediately flew back to Robin. He couldn't remember Robin ever uttering those four words in that order. Robin had never been good at heart to hearts. For crying out loud, the man acted like a little boy when he tried to express his feelings to Marian! "I should have listened to you. You are my closest, dearest friend, Much. I'm sorry that I've taken you for granted."

"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry that I tried to trick you. I'm sorry that I talked the others into helping me. I'm sorry I got Morgan to lie to you," he listed genuinely. His voice trailed off and he stared back at the river. "Speaking of Morgan, did Renton tell you how we set up our escape?" Robin shook his head.

"No, he didn't. He only said that Allan had created a diversion of sorts," he replied quietly. Much nodded.

"Do you know what the diversion was?" he asked.

"I know that he took a great risk helping us," Robin said, "What did he do? Dress like Will and sneak out of the castle? Alert the guards?" Much shook his head.

"Will was supposed to be tortured. Allan…" Much paused. "Allan proved me wrong." He looked up at Robin, who was waiting for a proper explanation.

"I thought he was just a coward. But tonight he did one of the bravest things I've ever seen," Much confessed, adjusting his cap. "The reason that he knocked Will out was that he knew Will would never agree to what he was planning." The pieces clicked in Robin's head, and he stared at Much, waiting for confirmation.

"He switched places with Will," Much finished, a pained expression on his face.

"And Guy nearly killed him," another voice added. Robin was on his feet immediately.

"Marian, what are you doing here?" Robin asked. "It's dangerous!"

"Everyone at the castle is a bit preoccupied," she answered. "Anyway, I thought you ought to know what Allan did for them tonight. I thought you ought to know that he really does care about you all. I thought you ought to know that they'll be moving him to Locksley tonight."

"Is he going to be alright?" Much asked. Marian pursed her lips, finally shrugging.

"The physician said that he'll likely get an infection. She said that if he survives the fever, he should be alright," she reported somberly. "I have to get back before I'm missed." She spared a moment to hug Robin around the middle, kissing him lightly on the cheek before disappearing into the trees.

"Morgan will never forgive me," Much muttered dejectedly, pulling off his cap and wringing it in his hands. "This is my fault." Robin shook his head, holding his best friend.

"Everything will be alright," he comforted. Much took a deep breath, replacing his cap and returning Robin's hug. They were closer than friends, and tighter than brothers. They were Robin and Much, and that was that.

---

Will felt as though a tree had fallen on his head. This wasn't happening. It simply wasn't happening. Allan couldn't be on the verge of death. He couldn't have switched places with Will. He couldn't have willingly resigned himself to torture. Will took in the hollow expression on Morgan's face. They'd only heard the news a moment ago, but the color was already gone from her cheeks; her eyes were wide with disbelief. As she left the camp, undoubtedly heading towards Nottingham, Much went to stop her, followed by Robin and Little John. Will sat in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the pressing feeling of guilt.

"Will," Djaq said softly, putting her hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "don't do this." Will shot her a look that she couldn't exactly read, but she knew what was behind it.

"You didn't know. You couldn't have done anything to change it," she pointed out logically. Her hand moved to his face, gently guiding his head, turning his gaze to her. He stared into her large, brown eyes, drinking in the comforting stare she'd fixed him with. His hand moved slowly to his face, gently wrapping around hers. He nodded as the guilt subsided. Subsided but remained.

"Tonight, we can go to Locksley," Djaq suggested with a tiny smile. Will nodded. He owed it to Allan. He owed it to his best friend.

---

Morgan peered down the tree trunk, ignoring Robin's calls for her to come down. Little John stood back, leaning on his staff, staring up at Morgan, obviously concerned. She hadn't spoken since she'd found out about Allan, and she hadn't moved since she'd climbed up the tree to get away from them. Little John's instinct told him to leave her alone. She obviously didn't want to be bothered, not that he could get to her while she was in that tree. A squirrel, he was not.

"Morgan, I'll come up there!" Robin threatened, but Morgan didn't respond.

"Master, hold this," Much requested, pushing his sword and shield into Robin's arm. To Robin's surprise, he started climbing the tree. Much soon regretted his decision, grumbling as he finally pulled himself onto the branch that Morgan had settled on.

"Morgan, you couldn't have picked a smaller tree?" he asked, panting slightly with the effort of scaling the large tree. She was crying, and as soon as he sat beside her and put and arm around her shoulder, she buried her face in his chest and cried some more. He wasn't sure what to do. "Pretty girls crying into one's chest" was really Robin's particular cup of tea. He hugged her, deciding to do what he did best. Talk.

"He's going to be okay," he began. "He will be okay because he is a fighter. The Sheriff has failed to kill him; Robin has failed to kill him. He's not about to die because of some poxy infection." To his relief, she laughed weakly through her sobs.

"There we go. Just take a deep breath," he instructed, rubbing her back. "Look, they're moving him to Locksley, so obviously the doctor thinks he'll be alright. We can all go visit him tonight." He felt Morgan nod and patted her on the back.

"Brilliant… Morgan?" he asked. She sat up, wiping her eyes, her sobs reduced to sniffling.

"Yes, Much?"

"How do we get down?"

---

He stared at the man, still reeling from how hard he'd beaten him. True, the wounds were now clean and stitched, but they were still there. Even more stressing was the fact that Allan had yet to wake up. If he would just wake up, Guy could apologize and explain that he didn't know at the time. If he just woke up, it would prove that he was going to make it. If he just woke up, it would mean that Guy hadn't done some horrible, irreversible deed. He had dismissed the guards, and only Thornton was with him in the small cottage.

Allan looked uncomfortable, but there was no way that that could be avoided. The torturer had seen to it that no part of Allan's exposed upper body had escaped the horsewhipping, or the flogging, and Guy himself had flecked the ugly burns across his back and his chest. The physician had done a wonderful job of cleaning him up and had agreed to stay in Locksley, just in case anything had happened.

"Thornton, I think I will stay here tonight, in case he wakes up," Guy explained, but as he looked at Thornton, he noticed that the man wasn't looking at him. He was staring at the window. Guy turned to see what the man was looking at. He couldn't say that he was surprised to see Morgan standing on the window sill, frozen, looking like a deer who'd spotted a hunter. Guy looked down at Allan before looking back at Morgan. Perhaps it was because he felt bad about what he had done. Perhaps it was because a part of him still considered Morgan to be like a sister. Whatever the reason, he turned back to Thornton.

"Do you see a woman standing in the window?" he asked, raising and eyebrow. Thornton shook his head.

"No, I most certainly do not," he replied.

"Neither do I. Come, Thornton. I wish to retire." With that, he ushered Thornton out of the house, sparing a final glance at Morgan.

"Thank you," she mouthed silently. He nodded and went on his way. Morgan jumped down from the window sill, moving immediately to Allan's side. The others filed in after her, crowding around Allan's bed. There are many old tales that say that a man can sense when his closest friends are near, and perhaps that's what happened as the gang waited patiently. Allan slowly opened one eye, his brow furrowing with confusion at what seemed to be a very sudden changed in atmosphere.

"Morgan?" he asked weakly.

"I'm here," Morgan answered quickly, taking his relatively unscarred hand, lacing her fingers in his. They were expecting her to cry, but she sounded calm and collected. Much recognized what she was doing. It was the same thing that he'd done when Robin had woken up from his injury in the Holy Land. She was being strong for Allan.

"Guys?" Allan asked, sounding more confused than anything. Much spoke first.

"Allan, we just wanted to say thank you," he commended quickly.

"You saved my life," Will thanked evenly, "Again. You're a good man, Allan."

"You didn't have to do what you did," Djaq pointed out.

"You were brave," Little John admitted. It was like they'd all divvied up a speech, the way that one picked up where another left off. That having been said, Allan managed his trademark grin.

"Nah, it was nothing," he gushed. He looked over at Robin, who had yet to say anything at all, and the smile fell from his face. Robin cleared his throat, looking up at the rest of the gang. They took the hint, throwing around another quick round of hushed thanks before leaving the cottage. Morgan stayed, giving Allan's hand a reassuring squeeze. Robin looked around the cottage for a moment, staying silent.

"I'm sorry, Allan," he finally muttered. Allan gawked in evident puzzlement. Robin took a deep breath.

"That day in Nottingham, after I'd banished you, you said that maybe, if I'd listened, I would have understood," he reminded quietly. "You were right. I should have listened. I'm sorry." He didn't wait to see Allan's reaction, to hear Allan muster a reply. He climbed out of the window of the cottage, giving Morgan a perfunctory nod before disappearing into the night.

"Did that just happen?" Allan asked in a quiet voice. Morgan nodded, stroking his forehead.

"Does this mean I can go back to the lads?" he asked, smirking.

"Eventually," Morgan guessed. "For now, get some rest." She planted a light kiss on his lips, moving to the window. Her instructions made him realize just how tired he was. His eyes slid shut. Sleep claimed him before she had gotten out of the cottage.

---

The end! Yeah, I know, the whole gang hasn't forgiven him as of yet on the show, but I think it'll happen. Seriously.

Wow, this was a really dramatic story, now that I look back on it.

I like playing around with the idea that Guy isn't completely warped.

This was actually the first story I've ever written that had a torture scene, and therefore a recovery/medical/whatever scene. I dunno how all that turned out, but I enjoyed that massive introspection that stemmed from it.

Sorry that there wasn't a wedding after all, but I did tell you not to hold me to that one…

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Thanks to RixxiSpooks, Liz4, socksycherry. Stripysockz, Marian66, DeanParker, Soapy-Liedown, scorpiagirl93, Gwenyth Hunter, PetiteDiable, Pig-The-Prophetess, Ashley162, and MissWed for reviewing!


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